


you don't even like anything you like

by youaremyscience



Series: the desperate things you made me do [1]
Category: Two Two One Bravo Baker Series
Genre: M/M, angst with eventual happy ending, blatant disregard for canonical details, unrequited love (or is it?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaremyscience/pseuds/youaremyscience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1 of "the desperate things you made me do" -- How did Henn and McMath go from casual fuck buddies to married? The buildup to the breakup to the makeup (and beyond)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you don't even like anything you like

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [TTOBB Data Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/281019) by [abundantlyqueer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abundantlyqueer/pseuds/abundantlyqueer), [boxoftheskyking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxoftheskyking/pseuds/boxoftheskyking), [neenya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neenya/pseuds/neenya), [Pati79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pati79/pseuds/Pati79), [suchanadorer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer). 



> Operates within the Indelible universe of abundantlyqueers' TTOBB (also heavily inspired by suchanadorer’s “Minutes to Midnight”). Exponentially angstier than is probably realistic for these guys.

            Henn can barely work his eyes open, they’re crusted over and his head is throbbing. _Where the fuck… what the fuck…_ he claws his way to consciousness through the haze of his hangover. Once he’s got his eyes open and swallowed a few times against the fuzzy weight of his tongue, he draws a shaky breath against McMath’s back. He realizes with a bit of panic that he’s fallen asleep there, that he’s pressed against Mac along the length of his entire body, that he’s probably been like this all night. _Shit_. Mac’s clearly passed out as hard as he had been. He could just get up and go, and Mac’d probably never know he’d been there. But it’s so soft there, and all the places where their skin meets are warm, and the skin under his hands is so smooth. He’ll just shut his eyes again, for just a minute, marshal the strength he needs to pull away.

            Then he feels Mac’s finger tracing his jaw, tapping his chin. “Tom, hey, man. Wake up,” and the words are filled with concern, and he fights his eyes back open.

            “Sorry, Mac. I guess I overdid it.”

            “I guess so. I haven’t been able to get you to wake up.”

            “Guess I passed out here last night. Did we come home together?”

            McMath rolls his eyes. “No, you took off to another club while I came home at a decent hour. Then you rolled in completely plastered, barfed in the kitchen – _you’re_ cleaning that up, by the way – and collapsed in bed – your own bed. I don’t know why you ended up in here.”

            Henn knows. Doesn’t say it. Again.

           

 

            “You wouldn’t have to clean up so much vomit if you stopped getting fall-down drunk every night.” Henn’s on his hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. McMath is watching him idly, leaning back with his elbows on the countertop.

            “Yeah, that’s helpful information, I’ll make a note,” Henn mumbles. His head is still pounding.

            “I’m not giving you trouble, man, I mean it. It’s too much, lately.”

            Henn slaps down the sponge and turns his face up to Mac. “What the hell difference does it make to you?” Mac shakes his head gently, leaves the kitchen without another word. They’ve been sharing the flat for long enough – sharing their lives for long enough, really – that he knows when an argument isn’t going to be productive. So he’ll leave it alone, for now.

            He grabs his iPod from the side table and settles onto the couch, earbuds in, trying to be oblivious to anything around him. Fighting down the urge to shout at Henn that he’s being an idiot, that he’s too smart to be throwing his life away spending every night drunk off his ass, going home with guys he doesn’t know. He’s taking stupid risks and Mac can’t understand it, doesn’t want to sit and watch it anymore. He closes his eyes and remembers Henn’s weight against his side as he supported him out of the pub last night. “Come on, man, let’s go home,” he’d urged, knowing if they kept going one of them would end up sick and regretting it in the morning. Tom had pushed his face into Mac’s neck and whispered (though not as quietly as he might have thought he was doing), “You want to put me to bed, Billy? Or you want to _take_ me to bed?” Mac had shaken his head, not meaning no, just meaning: don’t say that here, like this. Tom had pushed him away, swiveling to a group of people Mac didn’t know, whom he had evidently befriended over the course of the evening. Mac watched Henn saunter over to a blonde, not much taller than him but slight, delicate almost. Henn slid an arm around his waist. “I could go for another, you?” and they’d departed. Mac hadn’t watched them go, had scrubbed a hand over his hair and took off for home.

            He is pulled from the memory by Henn tapping his legs. He instinctively pulls his legs up to make room. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t turn off his music, doesn’t trust himself to look at that face right now. They sit that way for several minutes before Henn reaches out a very slightly trembling hand and hooks Mac’s calves, stretches his legs out onto his lap. At the touch, Mac cracks an eye. Henn’s looking at him, no smirk, no suggestive eyebrow, just a level gaze that makes McMath’s stomach clench. He removes his earbuds and reaches behind him to set his iPod on the table. He returns the gaze until Henn clears his throat. He lifts one shoulder and looks down at Mac’s legs.

            “You’re right, I guess. I should’ve come home when you did.”

            Mac doesn’t answer, but something in his face softens slightly, though he’s still working the inside of his lip with his front teeth.

            “I didn’t sleep with him, Billy.”

            “None of my business if you did.” Henn’s running a thumb over the inside of his ankle, and he wants to close his eyes and narrow his focus down to that one spot, where Tom is touching him, because that’s when it’s easy.

            “Isn’t it?” Henn hardly speaks the words, just releases them on an exhale, and there’s a note of vulnerability he doesn’t intend. It pulls Mac to sit up, to cup Henn’s chin in his hand, to crush their mouths together. But it doesn’t make him say it. He lets Henn bite his tongue, doesn’t say it. Again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to AQ and the TTOBB babes for support and encouragement


End file.
